Have Pussy, Will Travel

A gorgeous redhead set aside the magazine she'd been reading, rose, and strolled down one of the hallways that opened off of the room in which she, along with the other women, had been waiting to have her name called.

Half way down the hall, her escort stopped. The woman who'd called the redhead's name knocked on a closed door. A moment later, having been invited to do so by the room's occupant, she opened the door, and the redhead entered, closing the door behind her.

The brunette who'd led Ms. Johnson to the office returned to the waiting room, taking her seat behind the large desk on which her computer monitor, telephones, intercom, and other secretarial supplies and equipment were stationed. The brass nameplate on her desk identified her as "Marilyn. Holliday, Administrative Assistant."

The waiting room was like many others in which Sharon Cade had waited for job interviews. (Not "job," she reminded herself, but "career." She'd answered the help wanted ad in her local newspaper only because it had promised "not a job, but a career, opportunity" that could pay as much as a million dollars a year and, to qualify, one need not have graduated from college; hiring would be based solely upon applicant's performance at auditions.) The large room was tastefully, even elegantly, furnished, with thick wall-to-wall carpeting, pastel floral wallpaper, a chandelier, and several oil paintings--not prints, but originals--in ornate frames. Deep, overstuffed couches lined the walls, and there were armchairs interspersed among the coffee tables and end tables. A wide assortment of magazines was available.

From the looks of the place, one would never suspect such an office to be associated with a call girl operation. Even the company's name, Executive Services, gave nothing away as to the true nature of the enterprise's business. Like the ten other young women who sat poised on the edges of their chairs or couches, each as beautiful and sexy as Sharon herself, Sharon had inferred the actual nature of the services that the business offered its clientele from hints dropped in a preliminary interview, prior to her having been invited to audition. After several such clues had been provided as to the nature of the company's true services, her interviewer, a woman named Jessica Lane, had stated bluntly, "Executive Services isn't really involved in the travel and tourism trade, Ms. Cade. Can you tell me what services we really do provide?" "Prostitution," Sharon had answered. Although the interviewer had corrected her, claiming that the company offered "call girl services, not prostitution," she had recommended Sharon for the series of auditions for which Sharon and the other applicants for the position (described in the ad as "hostess") had come to try out.

Sharon was an altogether lovely woman. Just three years ago, at eighteen, she'd graced the pages of one of the nation's premiere men's magazine. Unfortunately, her appearance hadn't produced the break she'd been seeking when she'd doffed her clothes for the camera, which is why she'd answered the ad for a million-dollar-a-year "hostess" position at Executive Services.

Her competition was stiff, though, she had to admit. Whether blonde like herself, brunette, or redhead, the other applicants were also drop-dead gorgeous. Sharon wasn't unduly concerned, though, for Ms. Lane, in interviewing her, had assured her that the position would be offered to the "most qualified" applicant, not just to "the girl with the biggest tits." When it came to sex, Sharon wasn't merely good; she was fantastic. She was confident that she could land the position. In a year or two, she could be a millionaire, possibly several times over.

An hour later, Marilyn again rose from her chair, and called, "Ms. Cade, Mr. Drake will see you now; follow me, please."

Excitement lanced Sharon's heart, and she breathed a silent prayer, asking the favor of heaven in helping her to land the job--position! she corrected herself, position!--as Executive Services' latest "hostess."

* * * The First Audition * * *

The man named Drake (he'd offered no last name) was naked when Sharon entered the room. He was seated in an overstuffed, brass-studded armchair covered with burgundy leather. At his feet, there was a thick rubber mat. The chamber was otherwise empty.

He was a handsome man, Sharon thought: dark, curly hair; nice-looking features; broad shoulders; a deep chest; tight, six-pack abs; powerful thighs. His cock was erect. Circumcised, it was, she judged, at least eight inches in length. Thick and rigid, it stood upright, against his belly.

"You're Sharon Cade?" he asked.

She smiled. "Yes, sir."

"You're here to audition?"

She nodded. "Yes, sir."

"You've been apprised as to what the audition entails?"

Her smile faltered for just a moment as she recalled the directions she'd been given. "I have, sir."

He motioned for her to approach him, and she stepped forward, stopping before him when he held up his hand.

"Remove your clothes," he said.

As she removed her clothes, she felt, as well as saw, his eyes travel slowly down her body, as he admired her firm, high, round breasts; her concave tummy; the hairless cleft of her pink sex; and her shapely legs.

"Turn around," he ordered.

She pirouetted, offering him a view of her splendid backside. After several moments, during which he studied her sleek cheeks, pleased by their firm, full, rotund shapes, he told her, "You may begin."

She knelt between his parted thighs, on the rubber mat at his feet, and caressed his big balls through the silk-soft, tight flesh of his contracted scrotum. Gathering the purse containing Drake's egg-shaped family jewels in her hand, she squeezed his testicles gently, yet firmly, in her tightening fist and shook them playfully.

The muscular man in the armchair moaned softly, closing his eyes and letting his head loll against the plush chair's headrest. That was a good sign, Sharon told herself, signifying his enjoyment. She wasn't certain, but it seemed that he was harder, too, and longer.

Smiling, she gripped the clump of his balls in one hand, drawing her loose fist lightly up, along the shaft of his erection, and she felt him tremble. He groaned, his head turning left and right upon the headrest. When her hand reached the top of his shaft, she closed her fist more tightly about the thick organ, getting a chokehold, so to speak, on Drake's rigid member. She pumped her hand up and down, vigorously, holding fast to the bloated shaft, and, this time, Drake squirmed.

She released his cock long enough to hold her palm over its purpling glans while touching the shaft with her fingertips, so that her hand formed a shape like an umbrella. She lowered and raised her cupped palm, letting her fingertips push and pull the tight skin up and down upon the straining shaft of his cock. Drake shifted in his seat, sliding his bare buttocks back across the leather upholstery, further aroused. His scrotum was red, instead of pink, as was his cock, the tip of which was a deep, ripe plum color.

Sharon reversed her hand, turning it 180 degrees. Gripping his cock, she yanked his prick up and down, hard, several times, causing Drake to grunt. He opened his eyes, surprised at the intensity of her actions, but closed them again, immediately, the better to focus, she suspected, upon the sensations that her touch caused him to experience.

Over the years, Sharon had learned a lot about masturbating guys. At home she'd masturbated both her father and her brothers (although separately, without any of them knowing she provided the same service for the others), and she'd avoided sucking dates' uncircumcised cocks (a real turnoff, as far as she was concerned) more than once by substituting a hand job. Men were easy, really. The main thing was to tease them, bringing them near orgasm again and again, before, finally, letting them climax and shoot their loads.

When a man ejaculated after being teased in such a manner, she'd found, they always seemed to come longer and in greater quantities than they did if they were brought swiftly to their points of no return. She needed the position for which she'd applied. It would pay handsomely, making her wealthy beyond her dreams in only a few years, and it would take her to far, exotic places in the company of the rich and famous. To be offered the position, though, she'd have to do well at each of five auditions, beginning with this one, which meant, at the moment, pleasuring Drake.

Most women were merely perfunctory in masturbating men, Sharon knew. They weren't really interested in holding, kissing, squeezing, and kneading a man's genitals the way Sharon had learned to do--and to love doing. In sexual matters, most women hadn't grown up in households in which their fathers and their brothers were also their teachers. To become good at masturbating men, a woman had to jerk off a lot of cocks and, equally as importantly, she had to love her work.

There was a bit of the feminine in every man, Sharon knew. Some guys would rather die than admit that they were "tainted" in such a way, as if femininity were a disease of some kind. Nevertheless, it was true. Even the most ripped, buff men--men like Drake--had female hormones in their bodies, just as the most demure and submissive woman had testosterone in her system, thanks to the pituitary gland. It was all merely a matter of how much of the opposite sex's hormones a man or a woman harbored. Sharon liked men, but she had to admit that their sex would be improved, in her opinion, if they had a little more estrogen and a lot less testosterone in their systems.

Curling all of the fingers of her right hand back except the forefinger and the middle finger, Sharon poked these digits into Drake's scrotum, between the ovals of his balls. She lifted her hand, jabbing the stiff fingers down, into the deep valley between his testicles, finger-fucking his scrotum as if it were a cunt. Drake squirmed on his chair, opening his eyes again to check out the action. His cock stiffened, swelling and thickening before Sharon's bemused gaze.

It was obvious that he liked the strange sensations that her odd technique produced--or, perhaps, she thought, his enjoyment of being finger-fucked had more to do with psychological than physiological matters. Maybe Drake, despite his ruggedly handsome, virile appearance, was more in touch with his feminine side than most men were whom Sharon had known. The clear drop of pre-cum, or Cowper's fluid, that glistened at the tip of the purple crown of Drake's cock certainly suggested that he was enjoying being treated like a woman.

Perhaps, he was enjoying the technique too much, Sharon decided. Not wanting to lose him to orgasm so soon, she abandoned the technique in favor of adopting another masturbatory method, one she'd learned from her Uncle Thaddeus. Working his cock with her left hand, instead of her right, this time--switching hands could make it feel to man as if another, second person were masturbating him--she used her right hand to massage the root of his cock, which rose from behind his balls, along his perineum.

Although the bulb was not quite as sensitive as the external length of a man's cock, (the shaft, the frenulum, and the glans), it was plenty sensitive enough, and the unexpectedness of her massaging this "hidden" part of his sex was often exciting enough in itself to make a guy cum. Drake grunted, gasped, and moaned as her fingers lightly pinched, kneaded, pressed, and stroked the cylindrical bulge between his thighs. As she rubbed him here, she occasionally spanked his balls lightly, enough to distress, without harming, him.

However, she didn't give him time to get used to this approach any more than she'd given him time to become bored with any other technique. Holding the base of his cock in one hand, she masturbated him, fast and furiously, with the other, holding his prick at the extremity of its length, so that the strokes she delivered were concentrated mainly upon his glans. A second drop of Cowper's fluid oozed up from Drakes' prick.. To Sharon, it looked like a diamond that she'd mined from the depths of his masculinity.

Drake's cock was definitely longer, thicker, and harder than it had been when Sharon had first started working him over. His current state was a testament, she thought, to her masturbatory skills. Her boyfriends--and the male members of her family--had taught her well, indeed.

Judging that she'd teased him long enough, Sharon decided to use the method she called the two-fisted approach to bring Drake to his climax. Grasping his prick, hand over hand, she jerked his cock, both hands operating in tandem. The twofold grip gave her almost complete control over most of the length of his monster-size member. She brought him close to release twice, and then continued to jerk him off, fast and hard, until he lost control, spurting his thick, warm, white seed in jets and banners that streaked across his belly, chest, and face, unfurling themselves in white ribbons that splattered against, and across, his flesh, so that we wore his own viscid semen. She wiped the sperm that had run down his prick onto her hand onto his thigh, and smiled up at him, as if to ask whether she would be hired.

"Thank you, Ms. Cade; that's all" is all he said, though, in a raspy voice, peering down at her through half-lowered eyelids, as if he were a king and she a vile and worthless peasant. Now that he'd attained the nirvana of orgasm, his whole demeanor had changed. Before, when she'd had a useful service to offer, he'd been at least civil. Now, despite his "thank you" and his addressing her as "ms.," he was aloof, even cold. Maybe, Sharon thought, that was part of the protocol for the auditions. Maybe he was merely being careful not to be too familiar.

After all, she hadn't been hired yet. In fact, she still had four auditions to go.

She rose. "Yes, sir.," she said. After dressing, she walked to the door that connected with the outer office, where the receptionist was waiting to direct her--and the other applicants--to their next respective auditions.

* * * The Second Audition * * *

The secretary ushered Sharon into another room. Inside, another naked man, who introduced himself simply as Carlos, awaited her, seated in the middle of a long couch which, like the armchair in which her previous judge had sat, was upholstered in leather.

A thick rubber mat was in place on the carpet at Carlos's feet.

Sharon stood inside the closed door, awaiting her instructions.

They were immediately forthcoming: "Strip," Carlos commanded.

Sharon's response was just as immediate. She began to unbutton her blouse.

"Look at me," Carlos instructed her. "Watch me watch you."

A voyeur, Sharon thought. She resisted the urge to shrug as she raised her head, looking into his dark eyes. He was a handsome man, in his mid-thirties, perhaps, with dark wavy hair; a swarthy complexion; a thin, jagged scar down his left cheek; a bushy, exaggerated handlebar mustache; broad shoulders; a hairy barrel chest; tight abs; a narrow waist; thick, muscular thighs and calves; and a nine-inch cock that stood straight up, past his navel, above huge balls.

He watched as she unbuttoned and removed her blouse; slipped out of her skirt, exhibiting long, sleek legs and frilly pink panties decorated with lavender lace; unfastened and took off her matching bra, exposing her firm, high, round tits; slid her underwear down her shapely thighs, past her knees, and along her calves, revealing her shaved pussy, a delicate dimple between her legs, and stepped out of the last garment--she wasn't wearing, and didn't need, stockings or pantyhose--and stood before him, splendid in the beauty of her nakedness.

As he'd instructed her, Sharon had watched him watching her as she undressed, and she was conscious of the effect that her nakedness had had upon him. The appreciation of her charms was evident in his eyes, just as his lust was obvious in his lingering, leering gaze. As he had probably known, his watching her had aroused Sharon as much as he himself had been stimulated by her revelations of her breasts and pussy as she'd undressed before him. His appreciation of her assets, like his obvious lust, was rousing to her, and her nipples and clitoris hardened, while her pussy became moist. He was rock hard, too, and neither of them had touched the other.

"Approach," Carlos said, and Sharon walked forward, her breasts bobbing and swaying with every footfall. She was intensely aware of his eyes upon her body, ogling her boobs, tummy, hips, pussy, and legs. Once or twice, he'd even made eye contact with her, which sent an electric thrill up her spine and made her cunt feel queasy and her knees weak.

"Kneel," he ordered, when she was within a foot or so of the couch, and, dutifully, she complied with his directive, kneeling on the thick rubber pad between his parted thighs. "You may begin," he said.

Sharon had been told the purpose of this audition, and, without wasting a moment of Carlos' time, she bent forward at the waist, her long blonde locks cascading over his thighs as she did so, and, parting her lips, took his rigid, standing cock into her mouth.

She started right in, her head bobbing up and down as she pumped her rounded lips back and forth, over the taut flesh of his risen, rigid cock. Her cheeks were concave. She moved her head from side to side as she sucked his cock, adding to the sensations that her warm-soft-wet mouth stirred in his loins. As she ministered to him, her hand, a loose fist below her mouth, also pumped the flesh back and forth, up and down, upon his straining cock. Her oral embrace became something of a dance as she thrust and bobbed and thrashed her head, her lips clinging to his shaft. She let his saliva-slick cock slide free of her lips, drew them along the side of his shaft, and paused to lick his balls through the tight, risen pouch of his silk-smooth scrotum. A thick strand of saliva connected her lower lip to the tip of his cock for a moment, before it snapped and fell away.

Above her, almost as if it were a luminescent halo, the circle of lamps that comprised one of the chandeliers that hung from the ornately craved ceiling illuminated her angelic face. It seemed somehow incongruous to Carlos to be seated naked on a leather couch in a room of such opulent furnishings and elegant décor while a beautiful, nude woman knelt before him, sucking his cock. He'd conducted auditions before, many times, in this same room, but, each time, he still felt as if he were getting away with something he oughtn't to get away with, and he felt that the enterprise in which he, as a junior partner, was more than a mere participant, was somehow vaguely wrong, or immoral. He attributed these feelings to his Roman Catholic upbringing and to his financial success as a Latino man in a white man's world. There was no reason to feel odd or guilty, though, he told himself. He'd worked hard, and he deserved to enjoy such perquisites as a white woman's sucking his Hispanic prick. Besides, if she was good enough, he'd be helping her by recommending her as an associate.

Sharon drew back, leaning even farther forward, her creamy breasts dangling, udder-like, the way Carlos liked to see them, and, opening her mouth wide and extending her tongue, concentrated for a full minute upon licking the tightly gathered flesh of Carlos' scrotum, jiggling his balls inside their fleshly pouch. His skin shone where she'd made it wet with her lapping strokes. As she licked his balls, she was careful to continue to squeeze and masturbate his cock. She sucked one of his testicles into her mouth, holding it there, in her warm, wet oral embrace, before releasing it so that she might replace the oval gland with its twin. This action made Carlos squirm, and he moaned, obviously aroused by the vulgar intimacy of her having taken his gonads into her mouth.